He took the mirror and lifted it to his face, and blinked again. Because what used to be his face was now a sea of pink and white and sparkles. Sparkles?
“You gave me sparkles?” And on his cheek was a dark splotch of pink with what looked like eyes. He angled the mirror to look closer at the abomination. “What the hell is that?”
And a little girl’s voice cried, “It’s Peppa Pig!” And the ripples of laughter around him grew louder.
He looked at Ava, aghast. “I thought at least you were going to make me into some kind of superhero.”
“Oh, ask anyone in this line and I think you’ll find she is,” she said, as she wiped her hands on a cloth, and, damn her to hell and back, but she was enjoying this. “Maybe next time you should be more specific.”
“But—”
“Off you go, Peppa Pig, I’ve got customers waiting.”
“I want to be Peppa Pig too,” said the little girl up next to her mum. “Ple-ease!”
“And me,” said another.
It didn’t matter how many little girls wanted to look just like him, it was like the walk of shame going back to the barbeque, there was no way he could hide so much sparkles and pink, no way he didn’t draw the attention of every person going by.
“About time you got back,” Richo said, his back to him, busy juggling tongs and a slide. “It’s gone bloody gangbusters since you left.” He turned to pass Caleb the tongs, took one look at his face and cracked up. “What the fuck happened to you? You look like some kind of nightmare on pink street.”
He pointed to his cheek. “This is Peppa Pig, if you don’t mind. Apparently some kind of superhero. Apparently.”
Richo just guffawed. “Has Dylan got wind of this yet?” Richo had been on the Hazmat course Dylan had given the week he’d arrived and Caleb was always a bit wary about the easy rapport he seemed to share with his brother.
“Nope, and I’d really prefer he—”
Quick as a flash, Richo pulled out his phone and snapped off a couple of shots before Caleb could finish what he was saying, let alone get his hands in front of his face, his so called mate already thumbing his way onto social media. “He’s sure going to. As will everyone else at the station. This one’s going straight to the pool room!”
Bloody hell. Caleb was never going to live this down. But at least as he went back to wielding the tongs on the sausage sizzle, he knew he hadn’t blown it completely. He was going to see Ava again. The humiliation was almost worth it.
His phone beeped and he checked the screen and saw incoming from his brother. A single word.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
And Caleb pocketed his phone and sighed. Yeah, almost worth it.
Chapter Six
His place wasn’t much, just a modest nineteen sixties red brick two-bedroom unit in a group of four just down on the suburbs at the foot of the hills, but after his divorce and Angie getting the house, he hadn’t been left with a whole lot of money for anything fancier. It had taken a while to get over the move into a smaller space, but now he appreciated how much better it suited him. He was close to his station and the spare bedroom was big enough to house his bench press along with his various fitness bikes, for when he wanted a fast ride through the suburbs down to the beach and back, or a tough ride through on a cross country track through the hills.
And the bonus was, there was nobody to complain whatever he chose.
Now he had his favourite album – Californication – playing softly on the stereo. He’d picked a sprig of flowers off the tree out back by the carport that was sitting in a glass of water – Angie had taken all the vases – and the dinner he’d picked up ready and waiting. By the time he heard her small hatchback pull up in the visitor park outside, he had a knot the size of Tasmania in his gut.
For despite the playful banter between them today at the show, things had changed between them lately, he knew.
And it wasn’t just because of that phone call last night. All that had done was draw an underline under what he already knew. Things were different now.
Even the night of the crash, he’d sensed something was wrong. Sure they’d made love, but Ava had seemed withdrawn and on edge and he had a feeling it wasn’t just about the painting that was giving her grief.
He met her at the door. “You washed your face,” she said, as she stepped inside.
“Reluctantly,” he lied, as he reached down to kiss her. She turned her face at the last moment – intentionally? – and his lips brushed against her cheek and he knew he had a lot of ground to make up.
“Thai?” she said, sniffing the air appreciatively as she headed for the table, looping her bag over the back of the chair.
“I lied about the pizza. Hope you’re not disappointed.”
“And flowers too,” she said, noticing his feeble attempt at table decoration. “I love frangipani flowers,” she said, lifting the glass and inhaling deeply the scent of the yellow and white flowers. “So bold and beautiful.” He watched as she traced the petals with the tip of one finger. “I tried once, but they won’t grow up in the hills where I am.”
“Take it. There’s a whole tree out back covered in flowers if you want.”
She smiled then, as she thanked him and sat down, but it was a low wattage smile, measured like it was being rationed, and that failed to brighten his mood, and he decided there was nothing for it but to come right out and tell her what he’d wanted to ever since he’d realised he’d been such a complete jerk.
“Look, Ava,” he said, as they sat down at his small table for two with the
